


Help You get Through This One Night

by RobinsonsWereHere



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: (except I made it more painful), (the one where Shelagh and Patrick find out they can't have kids), Angst, Emotions, Episode:s03e03, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Infertility, Miscarriage, Poetic License, also @ ctm pls give your episodes titles, also ik nonnatus doesn't function as a hospital, but again, episode AU, everyone at nonnatus loves shelagh, everyone in general loves shelagh, i sorta know what i'm talking abt but at the same time..., kinda incorrect medical science, scratch that, timothy turner is a fckin angel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 11:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20656655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinsonsWereHere/pseuds/RobinsonsWereHere
Summary: AU of 3x03. Shelagh finds out she can't have children not after a failed test, but a miscarriage. Patrick stresses out, Shelagh worries, and everyone at Nonnatus does their best to help their friends.





	Help You get Through This One Night

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! This fic is pretty heavy, but it was actually the first idea I had for ctm, soon after watching 3x03. it's heavy angst, but also some softness with the h/c. and unfortunately, no happy ending... just a somewhat hopeful one (but that's not my fault)

Shelagh takes a deep breath as she stands from the dinner table, trying to make her sense of light-headedness dissipate. She must go pale or something, because Timothy notices, and his face crinkles with concern.

“Are you alright, Mum?”

She offers him a small smile. “Perfectly fine, Timothy. I simply stood up a bit too fast.”

“Okay. Would you like me to wash the dishes?”

Shelagh certainly has nothing against doing household chores, but she is rather tired, so perhaps she could let Timothy clean up tonight. “That would be very nice, Timothy. I think I’ll rest for a bit. If you’d like to read an evening prayer with me later, we could do that.”

The boy offers a bright grin. “Sure! You can show me that psalm you like again- the one that goes, ‘the Lord shall preserve my soul’ and all that.”

Shelagh has always found comfort in psalm 121, and she’s glad that Timothy enjoys it too. She presses a kiss to his hair before leaving the room. “Alright, then, Timothy. I’ll be out in a bit.”

Before lying down, she heads for the bathroom to clean herself up. After months of absence, her cycles have returned with a painful, bloody, vengeance. And just when she’d begun to hope for…

_Don’t think about that, Shelagh,_ she tells herself. She’s already tired and in pain, she doesn’t need to add the heartbreak of lost hope to that list.

So she takes off her glasses and lies down on top of the blankets, and she does not think about her half-finished baby gown or the dreams she’s had of holding a baby in her arms with Patrick next to her.

Repression and denial may not be the best coping mechanisms, but they’re enough for her to drift off after just a few minutes.

\---

Patrick comes home late from an emergency call involving an accident at the docks, which had taken up all of his evening and into the night. It’s nearing eleven pm when he enters his house, being quiet as he can lest he wake his family.

A glance into Timothy’s room shows the boy sound asleep, as he should be, but Patrick can see the soft glow of a lamp emanating from his and Shelagh’s bedroom. He assumes that his wife has chosen to wait up for him, but when he enters, he sees that’s not the case.

Ordinarily, he would just turn out the light and climb into bed carefully, so as not to wake her. But Shelagh is still almost fully dressed, and she’s lying on top of the covers. It looks as though she’d not meant to go to sleep for the night when she’d laid down. And it might just be a trick of the light, but Patrick thinks her face has a rather ashen pallor to it…

“Shelagh,” he says softly. She doesn’t wake. He sits on the bed and strokes a hand over her cheek. “Shelagh.”

Her eyes flutter open. “Oh, Patrick. You’re home. What time is it?”

“Oh, near eleven. Are you alright, my love?”

She frowns at the question. “Just fine…” She pushes herself into a sitting position, and the rest of her response tapers off.

When she shifts, both of them notice blood staining the quilt. Shelagh looks only mildly inconvenienced, but Patrick’s heart picks up the pace in his chest. “Shelagh-”

Shelagh shakes her head. “Do not worry, Patrick. My cycles have returned today, is all. The aches are worse and my flow is heavier, but I suppose that’s simply because I haven’t had them in a while.”

He frowns, barely reassured. “How long has it been since your last cycle?”

“Around three months. I thought…” Shelagh swallows. “Rather, I hoped I was… pregnant.”

Patrick takes a deep breath, trying to fight off the feeling of constriction in his chest. _This isn’t normal. Something is wrong._ “Shelagh, my love, I think… I’m afraid you might have been.”

Her lips press into a thin line as she blinks hard. “I… I worried about that possibility this morning… but assuming my cycle had simply returned was… less painful.”

He takes her hand in his, trying to offer even the smallest bit of comfort. “I’m of half a mind to take you to Nonnatus house for an examination, no matter the late hour. Have you been bleeding like this all day? Has the flow gotten any lighter?”

Shelagh shakes her head. “If anything, it’s worse than it was this morning. The pains, too.”

Patrick closes his eyes against the flood of raw hurt and worry washing over him. “Shelagh, I- I think-”

She squeezes his hand, heaving a sigh. “It does seem more like a miscarriage than a normal cycle. I… I don’t need you to tell me that.”

“Noone can fault you for hoping, dear,” he murmurs. “Come on, let’s get you checked out. Better safe than sorry, I believe.”

While Shelagh gets changed, Patrick pops quickly into Timothy’s bedroom. His son wakes when he rests a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Dad? What is it?”

“I’m taking Shelagh to Nonnatus House, Tim. You needn’t worry. I hope we’ll be back before moring.”

Timothy props himself up on an elbow. “Is Mum okay? She seemed a bit ill at dinner, and she fell asleep before we could say our prayers.”

Patrick sighs and lays a comforting hand on his son’s shoulder, gently pressing him back into the bed. “She’ll be just fine, Timothy. Don’t you worry.”

\---

It’s not entirely uncommon for the residents of Nonnatus house to be woken by frantic knocking. For that reason, Sister Julienne’s cell is located close to both the telephone and the main hallway, so she can hear if her assistance is required. Still, a late night telephone happens more often than an in-person visitor, so worry is already floating nearby as she answers the door.

Dr. Turner is on the doorstep, holding his wife close. “Sister,” he breathes. “Shelagh is is need of assistance.”

“Come inside, both of you,” she responds. Freezing with worry for her friend will not help anyone now. “Let’s get you back to the clinic, Shelagh.”

She leaves her on a hospital bed, with Dr. Turner standing at her side. “I’m going to wake the nurses. I’ll only be a moment.”

Shelagh tries for a smile. “That’s a rather optimistic time estimate.”

Indeed, waking Nurses Franklin and Lee is a challenge. “Cynthia’s on call tonight,” Trixie calls when Sister Julienne knocks. “Let me _sleep.”_

“I know who’s on call,” Sister Julienne retorts, trying to keep her annoyance in check. “This isn’t a labor matter; it may be more serious. I’ll need both of you, please.”

She hears rustling, groans, and covers shifting. When Nurse Lee opens the door, Nurse Franklin is visible behind her, digging through her wardrobe. “What’s the matter, sister? How urgent is it?”

“Urgent,” she replies. “We can forego propriety, I think. Hairpins will keep your hair back, and you can wear scrubs over your nightgowns.”

Nurse Franklin darts to the door, eyes wide. “Treat a patient with my hair in pins? I could never!”

It’s times like these when Sister Julienne is glad of her vows against vanity. “Nurse, Shelagh Turner is very likely miscarrying as we speak. I doubt she’ll care what your hair looks like.”

\---

Patrick stands in the corner of the exam area, trying to stay out of the way but also as close to Shelagh as possible. Nurse Franklin, who is kneeling at the foot of the bed, looks up at him. “Doctor, we don’t need you yet.”

He swallows. “But you might. Not to insult your skills, but, ah, shouldn’t I stay?”

A small frown appears on her face; a turning down of her lips as well as a crease in her brow. “I don’t think so.”

Patrick continues to protest. “Well, I’m a trained doctor, and-”

“Doctor Turner.” Nurse Lee addresses him this time, turning away from her sterilization of examination instruments. “Are you thinking like a doctor right now, or a husband?”

They all know the answer to that. “Does it matter?” Patrick asks weakly.

“We’ll let you know if we need help.” Nurse Lee looks at him with sympathy in her eyes. “You can go now.”

Patrick casts one last glance at Shelagh, who tries for a smile. “I’m in good hands, Patrick.”

He sighs. “I know.”

\---

Sister Evangelina does not appreciate being woken at midnight, but once Sister Julienne explains the situation, she understands. Her job now is to listen for the phone, and wake Nurse Miller if necessary. Bored and exhausted, she wanders towards the clinic side of the house.

Outside the makeshift exam room sits a disheveled and distressed Dr. Turner. Sister Evangelina sighs.

“Would you like some tea, Doctor?”

He starts at her voice, then shakes his head. “Ah, no thank you, Sister.”

She huffs. “Nonsense. A night like this requires tea.” With that, she storms off to the kitchen.

Of course, Dr. Turner hasn’t moved when she returns. He’s still sitting on a sturdy wooden bench, looking downright miserable. The nun heaves a sigh. “Tea, Doctor.”

He accepts it, though granted, that’s probably more out of fear of her than any desire for tea. For a moment, they both sip in silence. When Dr. Turner sets his cup aside, Sister Evangelina does too.

“Would you like to pray with me, Doctor?”

He shrugs. “Can’t hurt. I can’t say my mind will be on it, though. The only thing in my head right now is a storm of worry.”

“Perfectly understandable. I’ll do the talking, then. You just bow your head.”

She recites a prayer for health and comfort, and the words bring her peace. She can only hope they help the doctor in the same way.

\---

Jenny strips off her gloves, looking over her shoulder at Trixie as her friend enters the room. “Is she sleeping?”

“Yes. I gave her a light sedative to help, since she’ll undoubtedly be in pain for a while longer. I know we did a thorough examination and all that, and I know we’ll give her medicine, but I wish there was more we could to to help!”

Jenny sighs, nodding in agreement as Trixie tosses her own gloves and leans on the counter. “Miscarriages are hard enough with patients, but this is Shelagh. She’s our friend.”

Trixie blows out a breath, like she’s trying to steel herself. “I told Dr. Turner he could come see her, even though she’d be sleeping. Heavens, the look on his face…”

Jenny bites her lip and swallows hard. “Trixie… the worst part is, this isn’t just a horribly unlucky thing. I felt- even during an external examination I could feel what must be scar tissue. It makes a horrible sort of sense, after her tuberculosis…”

Trixie nods, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth as if to keep a sob in. “I- I felt it too. It’s just- bloody Hell, I know I live in a convent, but how on earth am I supposed to believe in a kind and caring god when this happens? Jenny, chances are she’ll never carry a viable pregnancy!”

“Lower your voice,” Jenny hisses. “Dr. Turner is barely a hallway away, he could hear you!”

“I know, I know, sorry,” Trixie murmurs. “I need a cigarette.”

Jenny sighs. “I think I’ll join you.”

\---

Patrick doesn’t leave Shelagh’s side for the rest of the night. Her sleep is fitful, despite the sedative, and it only lasts until around six am, when Nurse Lee comes in to check on her. Shelagh’s doing about as well as she can be, and Nurse Lee leaves satisfied, muttering something about breakfast.

“Patrick, dear,” Shelagh murmurs, “you need to get home and get ready for work.”

Patrick shakes his head. “I simply won’t go in today. I’d much rather spend the day with you.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Don’t be daft. We both know the nurses will keep me in here all day, making me rest and making sure I’m recovering. And someone needs to check on Timothy. Go to work, my love. I’ll be alright.”

Nurse Lee returns with a tray of food, and Patrick yields with a sigh. “If I must. I’ll see you this afternoon, Shelagh.” He leans down and kisses her cheek.

She reciprocates and squeezes his hand. “Don’t worry too much, Patrick.”

\---

Shelagh rests, but her heart still aches. It’s almost lonely, behind the blue curtains, listening to he nuns and nurses bustle about just outside. She’s trying to think of something other than the loss of what would have been her child when the curtain opens.

Sister Julienne and the nurses have been ‘checking in’ far more often than they need to, but Nurse Miller had been in only a few minutes ago. Shelagh is surprised to have another visitor so soon, and she sits up a bit to identify whoever it is.

Sister Monica Joan, of all people, enters and sets a vase of flowers and what looks like grasses on the shelf. Then she moves to the window by Shelagh’s head.

“Sometimes the Lord closes a door without opening a window,” she proclaims, “and then it is up to us to let the fresh air in.”

Shelagh laughs a bit, settling back into her pillows. “Thank you, Sister. Some fresh air would be nice.”

\---

Timothy hovers in the doorway of the clinic, bored. He’d quickly finished the inventory his dad had told him to do, and now all he wants is to visit his mother. Dad has said that she was alright, just recovering. Like that was supposed to make him feel better. Like the last time she’d been ‘recovering’ she hadn’t been too far away in a sanatorium. Kicking at a scuff mark on the floorboards, he grumbles to himself.

“Timothy,” Sister Julienne says, coming up next to him. “I was under the impression that your father left you here to help.”

“I did help!” he protests. “I did all of his cleaning and inventory!”

“Well, he’ll be busy for a while yet. If you’re bored enough to stand around ruining our floors, you can take these clean towels to the clinic kitchen.”

Timothy groans but takes the towels. After putting them away in the correct drawer, however, he hesitates. It’ll only take a few twists and turns out the kitchen doorway to reach the area his mum is resting in. He could probably sneak over there without getting caught…

He barely makes it into the recovery area.

“Mr. Turner, what are you up to?”

Timothy winces as he nearly crashes into Nurse Miller. “Um, well, uh, I wanted to see my Mum.”

Nurse Miller sighs, her eyes crinkling like she’s sad. _Maybe she is,_ Timothy thinks. _She _is_ one of Mum’s friends._

“Well, Timothy,” she begins. “You know we don’t allow visitors at our clinic. And she should be going home this evening…”

“But I can stay clean! My dad taught me to sterilize things!”

“Timothy-”

“I’ll be quiet, and I won’t bother anyone, promise! I’ll be good!”

Nurse Miller sighs. “Oh, alright. But only because I think your mum could use some cheering up. Come on now… this will be our little secret.”

\---

Shelagh isn’t really asleep, but she’s close enough that she startles a little bit at the sound of the curtain being pulled aside. Nurse Miller enters, followed by a familiar face.

“Sorry to wake you, Mrs. Turner… I’ve got someone here who wanted to see you.”

Shelagh smiles brightly at Timothy, who looks relieved to see her. “Timothy, what are you doing here?”

“Dad told me to stay at Nonnatus House while he went on rounds. And I wanted to see you.” he grabs her hand and gives her a smile of his own. “You stayed with me when I got sick while Dad was working. I want to stay with you too.”

“Oh, Timothy.” Shelagh raises her hand to cup the boy’s cheek. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Mum,” he replies. Neither of them notice when Cynthia slips out of the room. “Who brought you the, uh, flowers?”

“Sister Monica Joan brought those in. I’m not entirely sure where she got them, they don’t look like any that grow in the Nonnatus House garden…”

Timothy shrugs. ‘Well, they look very pretty.”

\---

Patrick has never wanted to finish his workday more than he does this afternoon. He’s taken his usual amount of care with each patient, of course, but as soon as his last call had finished, he’d rushed back to Nonnatus House, breaking all of the speed laws, he was sure.

The nurses give him smiles as he enters, but he’s not listening to what they have to say. He finds Shelagh’s makeshift room, and to his surprise, Timothy is there, showing a hand-drawn diagram of a butterfly to his mother.

“Shelagh,” he says first, moving to her side. She smiles and takes his hand, and before she can say anything, he drops a quick kiss to her lips.

“Hello, Patrick. How were your calls?”

“Nothing too extraordinary. I was thinking about you the whole time.” He turns to his son. “Tim, how did you even get in here?”

“The nurses let me in.” Timothy gives him his best ‘I’m innocent’ face. “I told them I’d be good.”

Now that he’s seen that Shelagh is in good health, Patrick can chuckle at his son. He reaches over and ruffles the boy’s hair. “Shame on you, lying to those nurses like that.”

Nurse Franklin bustles into the room, her cheery smile not reaching her eyes. “Oh, good, Doctor Turner, you’re here!” She pauses next to Timothy, giving him a conspiratorial grin. “You know, Timothy, if you went to find Sister Monica Joan, I am absolutely certain she’d be able to find you some cake.”

Timothy grins right back. “Splendid! Mum, Dad, may I?”

“Why not?”

“Don’t spoil your dinner.”

Once Timothy leaves, Nurse franklin’s smile drops to a precursory upturn of the lips. “Mrs. Turner, how are you feeling?”

“Much better,” Shelagh answers. “I… emotionally, I am still in pain, but the physical pain is almost gone.”

Trixie nods. “Well, we took you off blood transfusion a few hours ago, so you can go home, but take it easy. And come see us if the bleeding gets heavy again, or continues past the next day or so.”

Shelagh smiles. “I’ll be a model patient.”

Patrick, however, isn’t so quickly satisfied. Sure enough, the nurse isn’t finished. She opens her mouth to speak, closes it again, and leans out of the curtain to yell.

“Jenny Lee!”

Nurse Lee arrives, and the two bicker inaudibly, Jenny hidden by the curtain, for a minute. Trixie almost drags her friend in, and then they stand together, still and solemn, facing Shelagh and Patrick.

Patrick closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, preparing for bad news. It’s Shelagh who speaks first.

“What’s the matter?”

“Well.” Nurse franklin says the one word, then bites her lip. Nurse Lee glares at her.

“Mrs. Turner, did you know that tuberculosis can leave scar tissue in any or all organs, even after it’s cured?”

Shelagh looks worried. Patrick tries to soothe her with his thumb brushing over the back of her hand that’s in his. “Yes… I did.”

It’s Trixie’s turn again. “Well, while you’d need an internal exam to be certain…” she swallows. “From palpating your abdomen, Nurse Lee and I believe there is scar tissue in your uterus. Likely to a high degree.”

Patrick and Shelagh both know what this means, but neither want to hear it. Shelagh closes her eyes, and Patrick wraps an arm over her shoulders.

Nurse Lee, ultimately, delivers the final blow. “It seems almost impossible that you’ll ever be able to carry a pregnancy to term, Mrs. Turner.” She takes a breath. “I’m sorry.”

Shelagh lets out a choked noise that might be a sob. Patrick kisses her temple, then turns to the nurses.

“Please give us a moment.”

\---

It will be okay,eventually.

Shelagh can barely believe that right now. But being at home, eating dinner with Timothy and Patrick, makes it a little easier.

Timothy had taken the news well; he’d frowned and then hugged both her and Patrick and told them they were all the family he ever needed. Shelagh had cried.

Patrick, too, is being strong. He comforts her with small touches, knowing that words will not help for a while. He’s disappointed, but even more, he’s relieved that she’s alright.

Shelagh should have that mindset, too, but she can’t, not yet. She’s still despairing over the loss of what might have been, a loss far more permanent than she’d thought even twelve hours ago. She’d thought she’d recovered, but there’s a difference between losing one baby and never being able to have another, and that difference is hitting her hard.

As the sky darkens, she curls up in bed, the sheets fresh and no longer stained with blood. Patrick joins her, wrapping her in his arms.

Nothing is really okay right now. But it will be, eventually. Because she has Patrick, and Timothy, and really, everyone at Nonnatus House. And as Timothy had said, that was all the family she’d ever needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I know not all of the medical stuff was accurate, and I also kind of twisted Nonnatus House to suit my needs. So thanks for your suspension of disbelief, and I love comments and kudos!


End file.
